The Quiet Ones
by Amatara
Summary: The life and death of Regent Virini - one of the quiet ones history is bound to forget.


It was a good thing his parents were wealthy.

Virini was quite aware of how self-important that sounded, but that made it no less true. On a world as traditional as Centauri Prime, wealth might well be the one virtue strong enough to compensate for the sin of liberalism – a sin his parents were undeniably guilty of. For two members of a noble House to have a son, well-educated and not unintelligent, yet refuse to arrange an appropriate union when he came of marrying age… Well, such behavior was unthinkable. Or would have been, if not for the redeeming quality of money, carefully managed and generously spent.

Milo Virini's childhood might well be called unusual, although he wouldn't realize this until later in life. For one, his parents were soft. They felt no need to teach him resilience in the consumption of alcohol, which was expected of a young Centauri nobleman. Nor did they insist he was taught skill with either poison or blade. They had never kept Narn slaves, and the Centauri servants working for them seemed healthy and well-fed. To the best of Virini's knowledge his family had never harmed anyone, and he himself had been raised to do the same.

Oh, it wasn't always easy. It took hard work on his part, not to mention considerable effort from his parents in collecting on past favors, to get him even a simple position at Turhan's court. But that was all right. Even as he rose through the ranks, Virini never coveted more than arranging for simple matters: the Emperor's meals, clothing, decoration. He'd always found the small things so much more gratifying than the big ones, and he had never – the Maker help him – had a taste for politics. Emperor Turhan was a mild ruler, shockingly so compared to his predecessors, and for all the long years of his reign Virini counted his blessings. He wasn't truly surprised when his fortune didn't last.

The irony was, Cartagia was not even the harshest ruler Centauri Prime had known in the past century. Insane, yes, and dangerously so, but measuring him against the sheer ruthlessness of the rulers of old, one might almost call him… quaint. Like an adolescent testing the boundaries of good taste – which, in many ways, he was. Not that it made him less of a threat. But the truth was: everyone at court seemed so used to the concept of random cruelties inflicted by the powerful, they no longer even had the grace to be shocked. They feared for their own lives, but that was all.

Well, not _everyone_ at court. One of the reasons Virini had grown fond of Londo Mollari was that behind the carefully erected façade, he _cared_. Virini wasn't sure how he knew this. It might be nothing more than the glint in Londo's eyes whenever he deflected Cartagia's poisoned sneers – a glint that betrayed more anger than fear. Oh, there was fear as well, but of a different kind than what Virini saw in the other faces around him. Still, Londo was not a soft man, as he ended up proving when he arranged for Cartagia's demise. Nor was he a poor judge of character. Virini knew very well why Londo had arranged for him to be Regent. Not because the task suited him; because he was the one man in the palace with no interest in politics at all.

As always, he had been honored to serve. Or he had been for a while. Until _they_ came.

In those long, nightmarish weeks while he was their puppet, he couldn't stop wondering how it had come to this. The Drakh were ruthless, yes. But they also thrived on stealth, on their orders being carried out without suspicion. They could never have accomplished that without the court's tacit consent. It seemed the Centauri aristocracy had become so used to condoning atrocities that it had blinded them to everything, even the possibility of manipulation from without. They had grown lax and arrogant that way. And the whole affair with Cartagia had left its marks on Virini, too. Before Cartagia, he had never known true cruelty in his life; after Cartagia, it was as if he had never known anything else. And so, when the Drakh ordered him to feign ignorance about the attacks on the shipping lines, he had swallowed his distaste and complied. As he had done ever since.

And yet, and yet… There was still Londo. The longer Virini knew him, the more he became convinced there was some kind of connection between them. Londo had always treated him with kindness, but it was more than that. Sometimes, when he met Londo's eyes, they held a look that seemed familiar in a way he couldn't place. A look filled with anguish, and passion, and _hope_, stubborn and indestructible, long past the point where Virini had stopped hoping at all.

Only in his final moments, when the curse that was his Keeper was finally lifted from him, did he realize what bound them. Virini had had his death dream many times, but all he'd ever recalled were glimpses: a tearing sensation that was pure agony, followed by a sense of profound relief. That, and a pair of arms catching him as he sagged to the floor. He had never been able to remember a face. But as Londo's face hovered over him, Londo's arms cradling him as he choked out his last breaths, Virini understood. The horror in Londo's eyes told him all he needed to know. Londo _still_ cared. His soul, battered as it might be, was still his own, devoted to his homeworld and his people. If Virini had, in the end, cared too little, Londo might just care enough that all was not lost.

As cause for hope, it wasn't much. But it would have to do.

"I am not afraid," Virini breathed, and meant it.


End file.
